


Lost the Plot

by Angelike



Category: Merlin (TV), Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Community: kinkme_merlin, Kink Meme, M/M, One Shot, Podfic Welcome, Prompt Fulfillment, Reincarnation, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-16
Updated: 2009-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelike/pseuds/Angelike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin and Bradley <i>are</i> Merlin and Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost the Plot

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in response to the following prompt issued anonymously at the kinkme_merlin livejournal community: ["Bradley is the actual Arthur, and Colin is the real Merlin, and they have been searching for each other for a long time, until this show."](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/1108.html?thread=180308#t180308)

Merlin was performing an impromptu magic show—complete with vanishing coins and floppy-eared bunnies—for a small group of giggling tots when it happened: the land rose up beneath him, all the latent energies of water, wood, and stone surging forward in triumphant glory. The air fairly hummed with expectation, the power in his veins throbbed and ached and burned with delight, and with a startled gasp he stumbled and fell to his knees. Distantly he was aware of the alarmed cried of the children, the hurried shuffle of worried mothers as they sought help for the charming old man who had quite suddenly collapsed: panting for breath, hand braced to measure his rapidly pounding heart, tears rolling down his cheeks—he knew how this had to look.

But they were mistaken. His heart had not failed him. No, after countless centuries his heart had been returned to him at last.

“Arthur,” he sobbed, a desperate mantra. “Arthur.”

In Devonshire a baby boy drew his first gurgling breath and cried out for something his poor parents would never be able to name. It was the 11th day of October in the year 1984.

The king had returned.

* * *

It took Merlin twenty-two years to find Arthur.

By that time he had been made new again, shedding his aged image as he had many times before. He chose an Irish family for his own this time, one the descendant of the youngest of Morgana’s two children and the other a charming young woman he may have incidentally introduced to the boy in one of his more meddlesome moments some years previous. Colin, they called him. Not terrible as names go; but, then, anything was better than being a gay pagan wizard named Christian! At any rate, in those intermediate years of waiting for destiny to take its course and lead him home, he settled into a family he loved and a life unburdened by sorrow. Just knowing his king lived brought him peace. This is not to say, of course, that he was entirely content.

The acting had been intended as nothing more than a pastime, really.

Colin had been a restless child, jittery and excitable—the merest hint of yellow hair and soft blue eyes set him on edge, leading him off on many a merry goose-chase. He was jumping at ghosts. Throwing himself into mind-numbing activities seemed a good idea. Sports worked well, but acting… Well, he was _good_ at it. So he stuck with it. And he liked it.

It wasn’t until a happenstance visit to Drama Centre London to visit a friend that he realized that his acting career was more destiny than distraction. “Who’s that,” he’d hissed, violently curling trembling fingers in the shirtsleeve of his companion, eyes fixed on the young man who had just turned the corner: bright as ever (though perhaps a bit goofy what with the bizarre fuzzy purple Doctor Seuss hat) there was no mistaking him.

—_arthur-arthur-arthur_—

“You mean the oddball in the hat? That’s Bradley James.”

—_arthur-arthur-arthur_—

“Bradley,” he repeated, rolling the name on his tongue, savoring the taste of it. His magic swirled in glee, reaching out in laughing tendrils to tease through golden locks and along lightly-tanned skin before drawing back, warm and lovely under his skin. Arthur—Bradley—faltered mid-step, frowning around suspiciously as he rubbed his neck where a kiss of magic yet lingered. Then, shrugging, he continued on his way. He passed Colin, so close their hands might have brushed, but he did not stop again. Bradley’s gaze had slid right past him, as if he were not even there at all.

“Oh, you poor sod,” his friend sighed, pulling him gently away, “it just figures that you would fall for a guy like that.”

_This isn’t the way it was supposed to go,_ he thought faintly. Not until his friend held out a handkerchief and told him to blow did he realize he was crying. Would he ever stop?

* * *

If Bradley didn’t remember who he was, what they had once been to each other, he would _make_ him remember. Maybe—maybe it was time the _truth_ was known. Maybe the world was ready.

* * *

The first time Arthur—or, rather, _Bradley_—grinned at him, guileless and charming, Colin wanted to give him a bloody nose. It caught him off guard. Awkwardness, longing, sorrow, regret: these had been expected. Nothing could have prepared him for the wave of bitterness that crashed over him, cold and unforgiving, as he met a pair of laughing blue eyes that looked at him without even the barest trace recognition. “Nice to meet you,” Colin managed with a strained smile, shaking Bradley’s proffered hand with sweaty palms and fingers that seemed to want to curl into tender flesh and _tear_. He jerked back, mumbling excuses, and beat a hasty retreat.

“Don’t mind him,” someone chuckled to Bradley as Colin fled, “he’s just a little shy.”

In all the years since the fall of Camelot, in all the lives he had drifted through since the first, never had Merlin’s control been so wild. Energy surged and flickered beneath his skin. Bradley made him want to laugh and cry and storm and rage and it became clear that there would be no easy friendship this time around either: there was a very real possibility that he may just zap the man with a thunderbolt if he didn’t give him that bloody nose first. Distance was key. And, by all that was holy, if he started dressing all in black and listening to _Evanescence _while writing bad emo poetry… This situation was all kinds of fucked up.

Luckily, his inner turbulence was (just barely) manageable when it came to reciting lines and pretending _not_ to be Merlin pretending to be Colin pretending to be Merlin (and wasn’t _that_ a royal mindfuck?), or things would have gotten very ugly very fast. Acting had always had a soothing effect and it was so very easy to slide back into his old skin, to wrap innocence about him like a cloak and let reality blur until it no longer hurt to look at the man who both was and wasn’t Arthur. Illusions provided a fragile comfort; each time the scene broke, Colin walked away feeling raw and exposed. Sometimes he wished he had never set eyes on Bradley. Sometimes he hated Arthur more than he missed him.

It must have been very confusing for poor Bradley—to share such an effortless communion with his co-star whilst on set only to see the proverbial castle gate slam down in front of him the moment the film stopped rolling, locking him out in a way Colin was sure no one ever had before. Bradley was an easy man to love. Arthur had been too, in his way, but that had been a very different kind of love: he inspired admiration and devotion and infinite respect. Bradley, on the other hand, made people want to roll their eyes and smile and laugh. He was vibrant and vivacious and ridiculous in ways Arthur could have never been. People loved him—because he loved _everyone _in turn: unreservedly. Weeks of sullen avoidance and distant observation passed before Colin realized it was precisely this unexpected _openness_ that cut so deep.

Once upon a time, Arthur’s heart had belonged to Merlin. Merlin had guarded it jealously and never _ever_ gave it back. For all that he had only ever wished happiness for Arthur—in any incarnation—it galled Colin to see Bradley giving so freely of that which was not his to give. Illogical, yes, but it was what it was. Arthur would call him a girl, for being such an emotional wreck. But Arthur wasn’t here. There was a stranger in his stead.

Bradley very nearly sent the situation—and Colin’s tremulous hold on sanity—soaring into the danger-zone when he decided he’d had enough of playing the avoidance game a little more than a month into shooting. One evening, just as everyone was packing in to head back to the hotel, Bradley slammed into the changing room and shocked Colin into tumbling over in an undignified heap with his trousers tangled around his knees. And suddenly he was pinned flush against the chilled stone floor—virtually naked but for his boxers—with a warm body straddling his thighs, rough fingers pinning his wrists above his head, and fierce eyes—more smoldering gray than blue, now—searing into him. _Arthur_, he thought, blinking slowly. “Wh-what?” he stuttered.

Expression cool and dangerous, Bradley glared down at him and said, utterly without preamble: “I don’t have syphilis.”

“Huh?”

Bradley shook his head, lips twisting in a way that had very little to do with humor. “You think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been avoiding me like I’m some sort of leper?” He leaned down, close enough that Colin could feel his breath against his face, smelling vaguely of peppermint. Colin’s voice caught in his throat. “People keep telling me what a sweet boy you are, how I must be misinterpreting things, because _of course_ you’re not looking at me like I’m something you would like to squash under your shoe. _Of course_ you’re not fleeing from me at every turn. _Of course_ you don’t mean to be a rude little _brat_.” The hands at his wrists tighten, shift—and then one hand is grasping his jaw, tilting his face up with deceptive tenderness. Oh, by the gods… “‘Colin is just a little shy,’ they say. ‘You frighten him. Give him time.’” Bradley smirked and rolled his hips a little—pressed his groin into Colin’s and _it feels so good he can’t help but sob_.

“Bradley… ” Colin pleaded, humiliated tears clouding his eyes. He was hard and aching and horror threatened to pull him apart at the seams because he wanted this, needed this, but _Bradley didn’t understand what he was offering_. He was teasing a starving dog with a sumptuous steak. Even the most loyal of beasts could turn on its master if pushed too far. “Don’t…”

“Don’t?” Bradley repeated with a harsh chuckle. “Don’t what? Call you on your cowardice? I’ve figured you out, Co_lin_. You’re not as shy as everyone says, though you are afraid of me, aren’t you? You’re afraid of the way I make you feel.” Another careful roll of hips and Colin gasps, head falling back with a painful thump. Colin squeezed his eyes shut and prays it will all be over soon. “You don’t hate me. You want me.”

“Bradley—”

“Shut _up_!” Bradley exclaimed and promptly shoved his tongue down Colin’s throat to make sure he obeyed. Two nimble hands raked blunt nails down Colin’s chest and what could Colin do but wrapped his freed arms around Bradley’s neck and give himself over to him completely. Colin belonged to Bradley as Merlin had always belonged to Arthur. It seemed that Bradley had remembered that he belonged to Colin, too, even if he didn’t know why. It was enough.

“Idiot,” Bradley hissed with a petulant glare and an annoyed nip to heated skin, “stop thinking so much.” Then, with quirking lips: “Who’s supposed to be the prince here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be servicing me, not the other way around? You really are the absolute _worst_ manservant ever.”

Colin smiled. And for the first time in nearly fifteen hundred years it reached his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Also: PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR WRITING SOMETHING SO HIGH SCHOOL FIRST-CRUSH ANGSTY AND RIDICULOUS. I kept on thinking OMG COLIN IS A HIGH SCHOOL GIRL while writing this. And then I was shocked by how Bradley reacted to the whole avoidance issue. So, yeah. OOCness all around. Sorry. Hope it was at least a little entertaining?


End file.
